


Muerto

by zimturtle



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Day of the Dead, Emotional Hurt, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Reaper76 - Freeform, Suicidal Tendencies, Suicidal Thoughts, cliff hanger, dealing with death, dia de los muertos, honoring the dead, oneshot turned chaptered fic, remembering past love ones, reyes is a sad sack, self hate, self hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8467867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimturtle/pseuds/zimturtle
Summary: Ficlet turned chaptered fic due to high demand!Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison meet by chance on Dia De Los Muertos after five years of thinking the other was dead. Gabriel is beside himself. Jack just wants to try to make things right.Told from Gabe's POV





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been years since Overwatch HQ was destroyed and the lives of all those involved changed forever.
> 
> It's been years since Gabriel has felt normal, for more reasons than one. But every year on the same day, you can find him where he should have been when everything came screeching to a halt.
> 
> Right beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been read by any beta (mostly because I don't have one) so if there are any mistakes or anything is confusing please let me know it's been so long since I've written anything and I'm really rusty. The pacing is a little off and I'm not too happy with it but I'm tired and I want to post it so. Have a thing for late Dia De Los Muertos.

Butter, milk, orange zest. You stir as they meld together in the sauce pan, the way your abuelita taught you. The smell brings back memories, when your head was just barely high enough for your eyes to see over the stove, to watch as her capable hands made ample amounts of bread for the festivities. Now that you’re older, you can truly appreciate what she did for you. When she was in the kitchen she was magic, turning the meager amounts of foodstuffs that you had into meals that could last days, sometimes even weeks. You still don’t know how she spread so little so far.

You think about her as you mix the yeast with warm water. She didn’t like to use utensils. Everything was by hand. If she saw you stirring up the yeast with a fork she would lecture you. ‘Mijo just shake it up a little! You don’t need a fork.’ You let yourself smile a little as you put the dry ingredients together on the cutting board, make a well in the center, and slowly pour the syrupy contents of the pan into the depression. You knead, add more sauce, knead again, pour a little yeast, rinse and repeat until it’s dough.

Satisfied with the texture, you grease a bowl and plop the mixture in, covering it and setting it in the slightly warmed oven to rise. As it sits, you feel strange. Impatience rubs you a little raw, but at this moment the most you feel is alone. You’d gotten used to making this with someone beside you. Each year on this day, you would have your abuelita, sometimes a good friend...someone. You can’t help it as your thoughts drift toward _him._

 You think back on the first time you made it with him, how he’d gotten dough all over his fingers because he didn’t understand the meaning of,

 

 " _More flour dumbass.”_

  _“But Gabe you said three cups and I put three cups”. He’s pouting at you, half formed dough hardening on his cheek from where he reached up to scratch, completely forgetting his messy hands._

  _“It’s not exact pendejo, you have to go by the feel.” You nudge him with your hip as you sprinkle some more on top of the sticky pile he’s made and take over kneading. He’s watching you, you can feel him staring at how your hands move. You glance up and he’s blushing, completely transparent and you love him for it. You kiss his nose and laugh at how he sputters._

 

 It stings now, the sweetness of all the time you spent together. It’s curdled into bitterness, leaves you feeling cold.

 

  _"What are these for?”_

  _He’s pointing at the marigolds you have laying on the countertop. You smile fondly and turn back to the dough._

  _“Mi abuelita.” She’d died of leukemia the year before you joined the military. You were beside her when she passed. It was peaceful. Quiet. She went with a smile on her face._

  _It takes him a second to remember what abuelita means but when he does, he smiles at you. You pretend not to notice._

  _You’re still kneading when two arms wrap around your middle. He kisses the back of your neck and speaks low in your ear._

  _"That’s sweet Gabriel.”_

  _You allow it._

 

 Another memory you try your damndest to squash back down. A sharp pang digging at your chest, your eyes squeezing shut, fists clenching at your temples. You don’t want to remember this. Not after...not after what he...what _you._

  _…_

 Not after everything that’s happened.

 

  _“This isn’t fucking RIGHT Jack!” You are pissed beyond belief, he isn’t listening to you at all. He’s just standing there, hurt plain on his face as if you’re the one that’s betraying him and not the other way around._

  _“What isn’t right?!” You can tell that this isn’t going to be one of those spats where he plays nice. He’s hurt and he wants you to hurt too. “The fact that I got promoted?! The fact that you’re running a fucking covert operation? And a dirty one at that? Because from where I’m standing the only one who isn’t right here is you Gabriel.”_

  _Your eyes narrow as you cross your arms over your chest. He only ever calls you Gabriel when he's fed up with you. “So that’s it? You’re just going to paint everything black and white, huh? Not even going to consider the fact that this whole operation might be dirty? Or maybe the fact that it has nothing to do with me, or you for that matter?”_

  _“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s got that stupid look on his face. ‘I’m right and I know I’m right’. You hate that look. You’ve told him so a dozen times._

  _This conversation isn’t going anywhere but you don’t care, you dig in your heels and grit your teeth and let out what’s been eating at you for weeks, “I don’t think we should be trusting the higher ups that decided to make Overwatch. I think this whole thing is a scapegoat, a fucking red herring for something bigger. There’s something else going on here and you’re either too stupid or too blinded by your own pride to let yourself see it pendejo.” You spit the word that you would normally sigh affectionately. It wounds him. You don’t care._

  _“Or maybe you’re just jealous about the fact that I was promoted before you.” He’s seething. It’s in the curl of his lip, in the tone of his voice. He’s thought this from the second he was promoted._

  _You can’t help but laugh, scoff at the absurdity. You’d been nothing but proud of him for being promoted, he was the best man for the job. He had this natural ability to win people over and to lead them, this approachable charisma. Everyone who worked with him had nothing but praise for his conduct, yourself included. Maybe it didn’t start out that way but he’d come into his own, grew to be a man you respect._

  _Sure you weren’t the best at expressing your pride in him, you’d been nothing but suspicious of the program since day one. Maybe that’s why now he’s acting like this, can’t see two inches in front of his goddamn nose. Any other day you would tell him all of those things to calm the constant state of worry he’s constantly putting himself in, but in this moment you don’t have it in you to say any of it._

  _So instead._

  _You dig yourself deeper._

  _“Are you fucking kidding me Jack? Grow up.” That one hit home. He’s always been sensitive about what you think of him, wanted to make sure you knew he was an equal from the start. He hated it when you called him ‘kid’ or anything similar during your training together. Always bristled like a cat. “If you think for a second that you can trust any of these putas with your life then think again. They don’t have your best intentions in mind they’re using you and you’re too fucking stupid and inexperienced to see it.”_

  _He looks like he’s about to spit with how frustrated he is. You see a thought forming on the tip of his tongue and he pauses, almost like he’s hesitant to say it._

  _But unfortunately when the two of you really get into it, you both throw caution to the wind. This argument is no exception._

  _“Maybe you’re the one I shouldn’t be trusting.” He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth but you don’t care._

  _You blink, straighten up, and walk the fuck out. If he isn’t going to listen, if he’s just going to sit there like a child and ignore what’s staring him in the face then you’re just going to let him. Let him watch as everything you’ve both worked for crumbles between his fingers. You pretend you can’t hear him calling for you as you leave._

 

 He wasn’t the only one acting like a child.  You should have kept talking with him, should have made him see what you were trying to say.

 You shouldn’t have walked away. Maybe then this whole mess could have been avoided.

 Maybe he might still be alive.

 You might be too.

 That day, when you two had had that idiotic confrontation. That was the day that the Overwatch headquarters was reduced to rubble. Not even two hours later. You never got to apologize. You remember the building shaking, the rumble of explosives. You remember running as fast as your feet could carry you, trying to find Jack and not being able to.

 You never made it.

 After you were revived, you would learn that the blame of the entire ordeal was placed on your shoulders and that the building went down due to an ‘internal conflict spearheaded by the leader of Blackwatch: a covert operation that the military had not approved of’’. At least that’s what the official reports said. They claimed you went rogue. It was all bullshit you _knew_ something like this was going to happen. But instead of being upfront about it and telling Jack exactly what was on your mind you just had to do the cagey bullshit and avoid the subject because you didn’t have any proof. In hindsight, you know that he would have believed you with or without something tangible to back up your claims. You should have just talked to him.

 The timer goes off before you can dredge up another painful flashback, and you’re grateful for the distraction. As you form the shape of the loaves you focus on how your hands move, the smell of yeast. You’ll have to pick up flowers on the way, you forgot to grab them because you were so wrapped up in your own bullshit.

 If he were here, Jack would have laughed and told you how adorable you were when you got excited, how impatient and forgetful you could be. You would have grinned and pulled him close, made him blush and let him know just how impatient you could be when you were _excited._

 You grimace and keep working. Choke back the regret that threatens to drag you under.

 By the time the bread is finished the sky is rosy with the coming sunset. You wrap the loaves in tinfoil to keep them warm and head out, your chest feeling empty and sunken in.

 The drive is slow and you take solace in the soft music playing on the radio. It was hell getting everything to go your way. When you signed your life away (at least what’s left of it) to Talon, you’d only asked for one thing. These three days alone. And if not all three then at least today. They’d been curious about why, but never directly asked. The first year they’d had someone tail you. You killed them and went about your business. You’d gotten shit for it of course, but since then they’ve taken no such precautions; figuring you weren’t going to sell them out, not after everything you’ve done for them.

 If you did, you’d be handing your ass over as well. Wouldn’t be the smartest thing you’ve ever done. Then again, it wouldn’t be the stupidest either.

 You sigh as you park in the most inconspicuous spot you can find and step out, keeping your hood firmly on your head. You might be ‘officially’ dead, but even with all the new scars on your face you can’t run the risk of someone recognizing you.

 The cemetery is quiet, always is. All the headstones are exactly the same, spaced apart exactly the same distance from one another down the the millimeter. You grimace. You never liked military graveyards. They always felt too stiff, almost sterile. There was absolutely nothing personal about it, nothing that would distinguish one dead body from the next save for the name engraved on the rectangular slab that sat level with the ground. It was insulting.

 You remember bitterly that your name is on one of those slabs.

 It’s not a long walk to the spot under one of the sparsely placed trees. You’re glad for the shade as you set up a small shrine. A cloth to place everything on, a framed picture, some candles that you light as soon as they’re set them down. Then comes the bread you made, some water, and a medal from a long time ago. The flowers you picked up on the way are plucked from their stems, the blossoms placed here and there around your offerings.

 The sun slips under the horizon as you sit carefully in the grass, eyes closed. You breathe and try to calm the feelings threatening to bubble over inside of you. Pain. Anger. Hurt. Sadness. Your chest is tight as you look at the photo. It’s of the two of you and he looks like how you want to remember him, with a smile on his face and his hand entwined with yours.

 “Jack, I…” You start. This is always the hardest part. You never know what to say, can’t plan for it. “I wish you were here.”

 That much is true. Things were always easier when he was around. You could process your feelings better when he was holding your hand, you knew what to say when he was sleeping by your side.

 Alone, you don’t know what is going on inside of you. Just an overwhelming mixture of how you felt then and confusion about how you feel now.

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for anything to turn out how it did, everything just went to shit and I couldn’t see through it all. I should have done more, or less maybe... I don’t fucking know.” Your palms cradle the weight of your head as you speak, “It shouldn’t have been like this.”

 It shouldn’t have been like this.

 You _definitely_ shouldn’t be like this. You’re half grateful to Angela for saving your life but mostly you hate her for it. You should have died in that mess, maybe then at least you could have ‘paid the ultimate price’ or whatever the fuck for everything you’ve done wrong in your fucked up life. At the very least you wouldn’t have to deal with what you are, with these feelings of betrayal still coursing deep through your veins.

 With the guilt.

 You don’t know how long you sit there, hours maybe? It feels like days. You talk about how you’ve been, about how much you miss him. You rattle your way through more apologies than you care to admit, admit that you don’t know what you’re doing anymore without him. It hurts. The candles have withered halfway down themselves by the time you stand. You don’t feel the cold anymore, but you assume it’s chilly with how much the wind is whistling.

 “Te veré en el siguiente día de los muertos, mi corazón.” It tastes like sugar and ash on your tongue as it leaves your mouth, “Te amo.”

 Those should have been your last fucking words to him.

 You always imagined that you would tell him something sweet like that, something to make him dream about you when you were gone. But instead you left him with anger and the only one having dreams is you. Spoiler alert: they’re never any good.

 It’s dark as you near the gate, and you decide to go visit your own name plate. Might as well brush the damn thing off, make it look nice for tonight. No one else is going to do it for you, that’s for damn sure. It makes you feel weird sometimes, seeing your name there. Can’t shake the feeling that you belong underground for real.

 As you turn the corner, heading up the path that leads right to your cozy little death square, you stop. There’s someone kneeling right about where your headstone would be. You stay quiet and watch for a moment. They’ve...they’ve set up a shrine for you, shockingly similar to the one you just left. A few steps closer gives you a better look at the body kneeling in front of the candles. From behind you can’t see who it is, but they’re built with wide shoulders and their hair is cut short.

 You feel your eyebrows knit together as you try to think of anyone that would come and do this for you, to pay respect to you in death. A few names come to mind but they’re all either dead or don’t look anything like the person in front of you. You take a few more silent steps to the side of him, just to get a better look, and your heart lurches into your throat. You mentally slap yourself.

 That’s not possible, the grieving person in front of you is not possible.

 He’s.

 Part of you thinks that you’re dreaming, that maybe for once it’s a good dream and not a god awful nightmare you’ve found yourself in.

 He’s mature, maybe in his early forties. A few years younger than you. He still hasn’t seen you. If you’d kept walking you might not have noticed him, but the strong line of his jaw is so familiar. The curve of his nose is something you know intimately, the bags under his eyes are illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight but do nothing to mar his features.

 This can’t be real.

 You feel like you’re going to throw up as you move to be right behind him, see him tense and go for his gun, spin to face you.

 You freeze as your eyes meet, don't speak, don't even breathe. Surprise and confusion bubble up in his crystal blues.

 You’re sure your expression mirrors his. You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut, like all of the air has left your lungs. You’re lightheaded and almost shaking, fuck you’ve _got_ to get a hold of yourself this is too much it’s too fucking much.

 “Jack?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had this idea for a ficlet where Reyes tries to do right by Jack in death because he feels guilty about how things went down. I meant to post it on Dia De Los Muertos but it wasn't finished so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Here it is.
> 
> Feedback is welcome, I haven't written in forever.
> 
> ~~~~
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Te veré en el siguiente día de los muertos, mi corazón - I'll see you on the next day of the dead, my heart (thank you to Choriza for the correct translation)  
> Te amo - I love you


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack just wants to make things work but Gabe isn't giving up easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the follow up! Once again, this had no beta so if there are any mistakes please let me know!  
> I hope you all enjoy ^u^

The gun to your forehead doesn’t wane, but his eyes do. From confusion spreads horror, his face paling as he looks at you, as he  _ keeps looking at you _ . He looks like he’s going to be sick. You think you are too.

Reality slaps you cold in the face, makes you reel a little bit. In your blind stupidity, seeing him standing there made you forget for just a moment that you’re still a fucking monster, that you weren’t wearing your mask.

You’re exposed.

It’s been a long time since you’ve really let yourself think about your reflection and you shrink inward as you recall just what he’s seeing. Scars litter your face, tearing through what used to be your features. The whites of your eyes are black, your irises are pigmented and forever stained with the color of your blood. You’re a fucking nightmare.

“Gabriel…” He’s got new scars too, but you can tell just by looking at him that he wasn’t as close to the blast radius as you were. “What..what  _ happened  _ to you?”

You know that look. You’ve seen it plenty of times before. It used to make you so angry, so unbelievably enraged but as he stares at you with pity in his eyes it just makes you want to die. You recoil and pull the hood further over your face, cross your arms over your chest and create a physical barrier between the two of you. This isn’t real this isn’t real  _ this isn’t real- _

“Gabe.” You look up and he’s closer, the pistol he had lays forgotten in the dirt. There are pearls of moisture in the corners of his eyes and  _ you want to fucking die. _

“Don’t.” Your voice breaks. He takes a step forward and you take one back, putting your hands up and staring at the ground. Was it always spinning? “Jack  _ don’t. _ ”

He doesn’t know who you are anymore. You don’t know him. You feel like you’re going to pass out he’s  _ dead  _ he was supposed to be dead and he’s standing right in front of you you’re going to fucking  _ murder _ Angela when you see her  _ she told you he was dead _ . Your entire being is a storm cloud and your physical form is starting to show it fuck  _ fuck.  _ You catch yourself on the cusp of trying to subconsciously switch into your mist form, your body attempting on its own to run from this entire situation. You grit your teeth and have to physically restrain yourself to get it to stop. And it  _ hurts fuck  _ it hurts like a bitch. You’re going to regret that later. Your body temperature fluctuates momentarily as it tries desperately to regulate itself again.

“You’re dead. You’re supposed to be  _ fucking dead Jack _ .” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It wavers and warbles slightly. Your tongue is thick in your mouth and you try to ignore the shooting pain that ripples through your body.

He says nothing, stays still for three sluggish heartbeats. You count them as they pound in your ear. And then he’s moving again and your hands have found purchase on his chest.  _ On the chest where you used to sleep, the chest you used to press kisses to in the middle of the night he’s still so strong. _

His hands find your shoulders and pull hard until you collide with him and he’s holding you like he’s afraid he’s going to lose you again.

“Gabe I am  _ so sorry. _ ” His voice is barely above a whisper, a sigh in your ear and a piece of you  _ breaks  _ when he squeezes you impossibly closer. He’s shaking you can feel him shaking against you. Or are you shaking? You just. You can’t tell you think both of you are.

Your arms hesitate where they’re pushed into your chest but it doesn’t take long for them to move up and around his neck on their own. Part of you registers the fact that you’ve sunk to your knees but most of you is concentrating on  _ Jack he’s here he’s in your arms he’s- _

He’s crying.

You’re crying, sobs wracking your body as years of grief and guilt and anger and hatred and longing are forcibly shoved out from behind the chains you so carefully trapped them under. You haven’t cried like this since. Since.

You’ve never cried like this. You feel like you’re breaking, crumbling into a million pieces and you’re struggling with it. Trying to keep yourself whole but it’s no use. You’re trembling in Jack’s arms and you don’t want to go anywhere, don’t want to be anywhere but here. Laughably, it registers that compared to your extreme body heat he feels cool, like a fresh breeze and its absolutely fucking ridiculous that its  _ comforting _ . You squeeze him harder and dig your fingers into his back, trying to anchor him to you as he does the same.

“Jack,  _ Jack what...Jack. _ ” You’d been saying his name like a mantra, babbling as tears rolled down your cheeks. You didn’t think that you could cry anymore but fuck if you aren’t proving yourself wrong. “ _ Jack Jack dios mio Jack you’re here it’s you Jack I’m so fucking sorry please I- _ ”

“Shhh-hhh.” He stutters over a shaking breath, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back. He’s in no better shape than you are and you’re trying to reciprocate by pressing the knots out of his neck but your hands are clumsy and quivering while his are steady.

“Shh Gabe it’s okay I’m sorry, I’m here it’s okay.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and you can feel your hoodie getting wet from his tears and snot but you don’t really care. You’re sure his jacket is in the same situation so you’re even.

Eventually the tremors between you stop, but your hands don’t. They keep searching, feeling him, making sure he’s real. He’s mirroring you, touching your back your shoulders. You freeze when he pulls back your hood and hold your breath when he presses his forehead to yours, his eyes slipping shut.

“I...Gabi I never thought I would see you again.” Anything that was left of your composure shatters like glass when he mutters ‘Gabi’ in your ear. Your body curls forward, a wretched sob barreling its way past your clenched teeth.

“ _ Don’t fucking call me that. _ ” You can’t handle it right now you fucking can’t. “Jack.” You try to focus on where your hands are. Your fists curled around the back of his jacket. “ _ Jack. _ ” He’s got one of his held securely to the back of your bald head. Kind of makes you wish you hadn’t shaved off your curls. “ _ Fucking hell. _ ” His other one is still tracing patterns in your back. You hate that it helps.

“I don’t know how to handle this.” Your throat dries up as you speak, “I don’t know what to do I thought you were dead I wished you weren’t I’m so sorry I wished it was me instead of you I…” You just keep babbling, apologizing over and over until you can’t anymore and he just waits. And he just holds you and finally takes his head away from yours to tuck your shoulder under his chin. He smells like aftershave and the spice of soap. You cringe and realize that you must smell like rot.

He doesn’t seem to care.

“I don’t know either Gabe I,” You feel him grimace, “After everything happened I found…” He trails off and you wait, trying to steal as much of him as you can for yourself, trying to burn the smell and feel of him into your memory. He still uses the same shampoo. “I found your body.”

You grip his jacket tighter and think fleetingly on how you might accidentally rip it.

“You were,” He stops and swallows, shakes his head, “You  _ weren’t  _ Gabe that’s the thing. There’s no way you could have survived.” He pulls away to look at you and you can’t hide the pathetic sound that escapes your lips as his body is taken from your arms.

“Gabe, how are you here?” He’s searching your face for answers that you aren’t willing to give. You don’t want him to know what you are, you don’t want him to see what you’ve become.

You can’t believe that this is happening.

Suddenly everything is too real, the choices you’ve made over the years that you never thought you would have to face are staring at you plainly and you wither under the scrutiny of their gaze. Everything feels like a mistake. Everything feels like you shouldn’t have taken anyone’s word for it, like you should have been searching for Jack all this time instead of getting revenge for him. (For yourself). Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so broken. Maybe then you would have found him on your own terms and this would be better. Maybe you wouldn’t be on your knees in a fucking graveyard clutching to him like you were dying and he’s going to save you.

“Gabe,  _ Gabe  _ you need to calm down it’s okay just breathe.” You’re back in his arms and he’s petting you frantically. You realize you’ve been hyperventilating. Your fingers are digging into his back and it must be painful but you can’t help yourself. Nothing is okay right now and you tell him so.

“It’s not okay Jack  _ nothing about this is okay. _ ” He’s still petting you, you can feel him worrying and you almost want to laugh at how much he hasn’t changed. At how much he  _ has. _

“I’m sorry.” He shifts slightly backward to look at you, to force you to look at him. He’s got his finger under your chin and you feel like a caged animal forced into a corner. You don’t want to look at him, mostly because you don’t want to be seen. You force your face out of his grip and back into his shoulder where it fucking belongs.

“Stop apologizing.” There. That sounded more like your voice. Not wavering as much and not as thick as before.

He sighs and it feels like frustration. “Why shouldn’t I? This whole mess is my fault.”

Now that you’re not crying and you can hear him properly, his age really starts to come through. His voice is gruff and he sounds like the old war hardened veterans you used to get lectures from in basic. He must be thinking the same thing about you.

“Shut up Jack.” There’s no malice behind it. He knows that. “Just shut up and hold me.”

He’s smiling into your shoulder. Cheeky bastard.

You’re surprised that he does what you ask. When you were younger he would jump to do anything that you said, an eager to please puppy with a smile like the sun. As the years dragged on he was less happy to do as you asked, and at the end he would fight you at every turn. You may not have fought him back on  _ all  _ of his orders, but you didn’t make it easy for him to tell you what to do either. You were just as stubborn and boar headed as he was. Your own paranoia and annoyance with his blind acceptance of everything doing you both under. You should have just fucking talked to him. Hindsight’s always been 20/20.

“Hey, not to ruin the moment or anything but, do you want to go somewhere else? It’s starting to get dark.” He doesn’t move, just keeps himself tucked against you like a security blanket. The more proud part of you doesn’t like to feel so small. The rest of you feels safe for the first time in a very, very long time.

“Got any ideas?” You’re a little muffled from where your face is pressed into him and he chuckles.

“There’s a 24 hour diner a little ways down the road. You hungry?” He’s patting your back like a toddler. You kind of want to punch him.

“Fuck yes.” Food fixes everything right?

~~

This is stupid.

This is the most fucking  _ stupid _ thing you’ve ever done in your life.

Not in the ‘oh shit I fucked up’ kind of way. It’s the ‘what the actual fuck’ feeling that makes you question if your life is even real anymore or if you’ve been stuck in a fever dream for the past 45 years and this is just your brain finally giving up on you. You’re at the end of it and this is the part where your dying cells give you a reprieve as you’re sucked to wherever it is that people go when they die.

The coffee in your hands is not real.

This diner that you’re sitting in is not real.

Jack Morrison sitting in front of you eating waffles at 11:30 at night? Absolutely not real, not even a little bit.

Oh fuck and now he’s looking at you like he’s expecting you to say something. Your blood was rushing so loudly in your ears alongside your thoughts that you completely missed what he’d said.

“What?” You can be so eloquent when you want to be.

He shakes his head, the shadow of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, “I said, ‘Get your head out of your ass Gabe it’s not a hat.’”

“Hey  _ I’m  _ supposed to be the one sassing  _ you  _ pendejo.” That felt...more normal than it should. As if nothing has happened, as if no time has passed.

It’s a lie.

He falters for half a second, just long enough for you to hate yourself all over again. For a very long time, you only hated him, only blamed him for everything that happened. It was easy, so much easier than facing the harsh truth that it was both of you

You never, not even once, told him how proud you were of him. How happy you were that he got that stupid fucking promotion, how much he deserved it.

How much it suited him.

Instead, he only ever saw you when you were suspicious, when you were muttering to yourself about how much you didn’t trust anyone that bestowed upon him the title of ‘Strike Commander’. Now you know that he only ever wanted you to say the things that you always just assumed he already knew.

Eventually, it caught up with you.

Of course you were still mad at him about the things he had said, he should have known better. He should have trusted you.

You should have given him more reason to trust you.

You could run yourself ragged just thinking about everything you both  _ should have  _ done.

But after about a year of it, you just couldn’t anymore. It wasn’t like you were ever going to see him again right? It wasn’t like you were ever going to be able to talk to him about it, right? You weren’t going to have closure, you were never going to get the answers you needed from him and when you realized that, your head decided that the only person left to hate and blame was you.

So you buried whatever you had left of your humanity deep inside of your decaying heart and went back to doing the things that you did best.

Settling scores and leaving shotgun shells in your wake.

You kept your guard high and your walls up even higher, didn’t bat an eye when you came into contact with people from the old days. As far as you were concerned they were all fucking guilty until you had evidence to prove otherwise. You weren’t going to stop until everyone, everything associated with Overwatch was decimated and crumbling in your fist.

Now as you look at his tired, war-ragged face...you can’t help but feel like your entire world’s been flipped again. Every step you’ve made up to this point was calculated, but fuck. Now you’re seeing that you may have been fucking terrible at math.

“Are you going to do this all night?” He’s looking at you as if you didn’t spend your sanity on taking revenge in his name. (In your name too) He doesn’t know who you are anymore and he’s looking at you like he did years and years ago. “Because if you keep zoning out I’m going to take the opportunity to catch up on my beauty sleep.”

You’re going to be sick.

“Beauty sleep isn’t gonna fix that face feo.” It’s just too damn easy to slip back into a routine, isn’t it.

He puts a hand to his chest, pouting at you, “I’m wounded Gabe, you really hurt me.”

You wince and he does too. God fucking-

“This is weird isn’t it.” He’s twirling a fork between his fingers, watching it carefully.

“That’s the understatement of the century Jackie.” Aw hell. You didn’t mean to call him that.

“Hey that’s playing dirty,” He smiles and takes another bite of waffles. He’s smothered them in strawberry syrup and you grimace. You hate that artificial shit. “If I can’t call you Gabi you sure as hell aren’t calling me Jackie.”

“Fair enough.” You can’t argue with him there.

You can see him thinking, his mind working far too hard at something he’s not telling you. Big ball of anxiety. You sigh and kick him under the table hard enough that he kicks back.

“What’s going on in that big head of yours boy scout?” When is the last time you smiled this much? This entire situation is overwhelming and bordering unbelievable but you can’t help but feel a little better. For now you can just forget about all of the pain and all of the bullshit that’s been suffocating you for years. For now, you can relax a little.

“What happened?” His brows are knit together and he’s put his fork down. “Gabe, how is this possible what happened to you?”

And just like that you’re right back into it. You can feel the guards going back up as you scoot the plate of eggs away from you and lean back in your seat.

“I don’t know how she did it Jack.” You start with a strain, following the lines of the table with one of your fingers. “But Angela found me after the explosion hit. I don’t remember much, just...just that it hurt. More than nights after serum treatments. Still hurts.” You can’t force yourself to look up at him.

If you were to peek, you would see him gaping like a dead fish at you. He never was very subtle. Had a shit poker face “You were  _ dead. _ Gabe you were gone there’s no way she could have-”

“I told you  _ I don’t know how she did it _ .” You don’t want to talk about this anymore you hate what you’ve become. You hate what she’s made you and you  _ itch  _ when you think about it too much. “I just know that whatever it was brought me back and I’m. I’m this now.”

“You’re what?” He presses, reaching out to cover your hand with his. You don’t let him, instead pulling your arms into your chest and holding them tightly, squeeze your eyes shut to block him out.

“I’m a fucking abomination Jack.” You can’t help the self hatred that leaks out into your voice as you speak.

“You aren’t an abomination. You’re not.” He’s frowning again so you push your finger into the crease of his forehead. He chortles and pulls a much better face. “Whatever she did, I’m thankful for it. If she hadn’t I wouldn’t be able to see you now. I wouldn’t have a chance to make things right.”

You decide not to let yourself voice the fact that you aren’t grateful to her, that you would have rather died than become who you are, and change the subject to something less depressing. “Make things right?”

“I want to fix things Gabe, I want to fix everything.” He rests his head atop folded fingers, concentrating on his untouched coffee. You don’t know why he ordered it, he’s never liked coffee. Always said it was too bitter for him. Normally at diners he would just order hot chocolate. “Starting with you,” He smiles up fondly at you for a moment, “and ending with Overwatch.”

He’s still so sickeningly optimistic, still believes that with hard work and perseverance he can overcome anything, beat any odds. You’re honestly astounded that he’s managed to keep that determination so long considering everything that’s happened. The look on his face alone is enough to get you thinking that maybe the two of you can fix everything, maybe you can leave Talon and pick up the broken remains of Overwatch, rebuild what you both fought so hard to create. Do it right this time.

You’re reminded just how well suited he is to lead. He’s awe inspiring.

Shines bright as the sun.

A tiny bubble of hope settles warm in your chest as you take a sip of your second coffee. You’re sorely tempted to just take his, you know he’s not going to have any of it.

“Winston contacted me just this past month.” Your blood runs like ice in your veins as you remember just who you are and what you’ve done. Reality comes back to bite you and you know that you can’t go back to Overwatch. You can’t fix anything, you’re part of the reason why it’s broken. He keeps talking and doesn’t notice you set your half full mug down with a grimace, “I don’t even know how he found me but my best guess is Athena’s been putting in overtime.”

He jokes. He’s joking around with you and you’re toeing the line of a full blown breakdown. You’re not Gabriel Reyes anymore, Gabe died and there’s no hope for the wraith that you’ve grown into. There’s no hope for you, there’s nothing for you anymore-

“Gabe?” He’s reaching for your hands and his eyes are teeming over with concern. You pull away sharply before he can touch you.

“We can’t fix it Jack.” You squeeze your eyes shut and try your best to close him out.

“What do you mean?” You can’t see the hurt on his face but maybe that’s worse because you can clearly hear how it strains his voice. You’re hurting him again god  _ fuck.  _ You don’t want to do this to him, you can’t handle it but you know the truth and he’s still so blind to it.

“We just. We can’t it’s not possible.” There’s a knot in your chest that feels like it’s burning a hole in you, hollowing you out.

And he’s laughing, a short bewildered sound that comes out of his nose. “Not with that attitude.”

“Not with any attitude.” You all but growl, “It’s just not going to happen Jack, it can’t.”

You can’t redeem yourself for all the people you’ve killed, all of the friends you’ve killed and attacked. There’s no hope for you now, you and feel some part of yourself shut off as you come to this sobering conclusion. You will never have what you had before. You will never be who you were before. You don’t deserve a second chance at this or anything else.

You open your eyes and he’s confused, he’s so confused.

“I thought…” He looks away, down to where his thumbs circle each other between his palms. A nervous habit. Always did it when he was anxious about something.

“What Jack?” You sound more angry than you mean to, “You thought that just because we found out each other is alive that everything could just go back to normal?” Your eggs tasted so good a moment ago, but looking at them now just makes you want to puke. “That we could just be happy?” You scoff and lean your head back against the booth seat. “Shit doesn’t just work out like that cabron. You know that.”

He pauses for a moment and places his hands flat on the table before he speaks again, “We always made it work before.” There’s a hint of desperation to his voice and you know that if this conversation would have happened five years ago you would have been 100% with him on this.

But now you just can’t.

The ceiling is just so fucking interesting to you at the moment, “Yeah well that was before.”

“Gabe.” He beckons. You know what he wants but you aren’t willing to give it to him. “Look at me.”

You’re stubborn as they come, keeping your eyes trained on the cracks in the sagging ceiling panels.

“Dammit Gabriel just.” He breathes out and it’s shaky, almost enough to make you want to comfort him, almost enough to break you. “Please.”

Fucking hell. He always did know how to push your buttons. You take a deep breath and face him, locking eyes and not blinking. It kind of freaks you out that he’s staring into you, that he looks at you like he’s digging around in your soul, trying to find something. Trying to find anything.

“What’s really going on here? What aren’t you telling me?” He’s so uncharacteristically perceptive tonight that it’s throwing you for a loop.

He blinks all doe eyed and you take the opportunity to pinch the bridge of your nose, lean forward with your head in your hands. You don’t know if you’re ready to tell him why you’re being this way. You don’t know if you’ll be okay if he leaves you again.

It’d be easier just to push him away yourself right? So much easier. Then you wouldn’t have to bare your soul to him and tell him the truth, you won’t have to face the possibility that he’s not going to like what he sees.  That he might reject you. You wouldn’t be able to handle that.

“I can’t tell you Jack.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” His hands gently take yours and hold them down away from your face. He moves one of them to your cheek and ever so softly turns your face to look at him. You allow it. His skin is rough and damaged but it feels like home and you can’t deny yourself of that feeling for very long.

“What’s the difference?” You lean into his palm and let yourself have this moment, trying not to feel guilty about it.

He sighs and circles his thumb around your cheekbone for a moment before pulling away. You look up at him and he’s got this kicked puppy look on his face.

“I get it.” And by the tone of his voice, you think maybe he doesn’t, “You don’t trust me it’s alright. I wouldn’t either.” Yeah he  _ definitely  _ doesn’t get it this fucking asshole.

“Jack don’t.” A frustrated snort pushes out of your nostrils as you try to center yourself. “Don’t. That’s not it I just.” Words. Why are words so hard.

“Just what?” He’s staring at you, eyes open and so caring and  _ you don’t deserve to have them on you. _

“Just. Shit I just  _ can’t Jack. _ ” Every inch of your skin itches, your face is burning with frustration and he’s not laying off.

“You can’t what? Please just tell me I can help!” His hands are on yours again and he just wants to talk to you why do you have to be like this why are you like this.

“ _ I can’t lose you again! _ ” It comes out like gravel, rough and almost forced out of your throat. “I can’t lose you Jack I can’t fucking handle it please don’t make me.”

Silence follows as he stares at you with his mouth dropped open in a small ‘o’. You pull away, yank your hoodie back over your head and curl up in the corner of the booth. Fuck this and everything else. Just fuck all of it you want to disappear.

You don’t hear him get up but you definitely feel it when he slides in beside you and tries to hug you to him as best he can given the angle. It’s cramped and awkward but you don’t push him away.

“Who says I’m going anywhere pendejo?” He buries his nose in the crook of your neck and you can’t help yourself.

You snort out a tiny laugh. How the fuck he still has that white boy accent after all the years you spent together is beyond you, but it’s still there and it still gets you every time. You never thought you would hear it again. For a second you think that you’re just being selfish, that this isn’t only about you, he’s been suffering too. As you shift slightly to look at him, your thought is confirmed. You can see his anguish in every crease of his forehead, in the battered expression of his eyes.

Maybe you should tell him.

You shuffle in closer to him and try to get comfortable with him halfway in your arms and you halfway in his. It takes a second but you find an agreeable position after some finagling.

You can do this, you can tell him the truth.

“I’m afraid Jackie.” Start slow, “I’m afraid that when you find out who I’ve turned into you’ll decide you won’t want to fix things.” Baby steps. “You’ll just want to put a bullet in my head.”

That’s got his attention. He’s definitely curious now and leans back to look at your face as you speak.

“Gabi,” You suck in a breath, “I thought you were dead for five years and it ruined me. I’m not going to try and kill you now that I just got you back.”

You want to believe him, you do. But you know how loyal he is. When he finds out what you’ve been doing, who you’ve been killing...you don’t know if he’ll hold to his word then. They were your family at one point. The only thing any of you had back then was each other.

“I’ll...I’ll tell you.” He nods slowly, waiting. “But not here. I don’t want to be here anymore.” It’s getting late and you’ve been getting looks from everyone that’s come into the diner. Their eyes make your skin crawl. “Can we leave?”

He smiles at you, a genuine smile that you can’t help but feel like you don’t deserve. “My place or yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand another cliff hanger.
> 
> Sorry guys but if I went any further it would have turned into a 10,000 word update instead of a 5,000 word one and I wanted to get this posted by the end of this week.
> 
> Look forward to chapter three! Should be posted in about 2 weeks.
> 
> Also if you would like a guide on how I headcanon Reaper works, you can check it out [here](http://tinyturtletimtim.tumblr.com/post/153375764258/so-my-younger-brother-and-i-were-spit-balling) on my tumblr.


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